… as in, wanting to close the eyes and fall asleep.
This album makes me dance, move my shoulders, scream in silence and wonder about a Malcolm McDowell’s quote: “The best thing I did was abuse myself when younger – I dabbled in everything, cocaine, booze, women – because now I don’t have to do it anymore.” I kind of lack all of them. I drank a lot, yes, but always in a glass, taking care of what happened… never dabbled. Maybe that’s the difference of the so called generations. Today the youth is not meant to be young, it’s not meant to… oh wait, for a couple of seconds I forgot the party-masses. Pardon.
Anyway, maybe I should forget my whole reality, break doors, punch windows and the great whore will suckle me until I’m fat and happy and can suckle no more.
But as I wrote that sentence I felt my dinner coming up my throat and a knot of disgust in my stomach. I can’t.

Shower calls, and then the pleasant bed will hold me.
Try to get the album, is great, is music I wouldn’t expect to hear from me. It’s delicious, it’s the gorgeous fat kid of the bacchanal whore.

I suppose that a pleasure without the “have to” lacks the most important aspect of the pleasure: the desire. Although, when this desire becomes an urgent and unavoidable need you can forget the whole thing. Addiction kills the sense of us all.

Kinda funny, isn’t it–it seems the guys who used to be the wildest, become the quietest when they hit the middle age. I remember the 80s, oh boy, he was the kind of man just meeting whom would give your mother a heart attack. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, you name it. And I’ve read some article recently, he is married, having a new child and living a mellow family-oriented life somewhere in sunny California. Where did all the crazywildtemper go? I guess there is a point when one starts yearning for a change

Whereas some mild-mannered accountant hits 45, grabs his savings, buys a red Viper and a killer pair of boots, and dumps his stocky wife for the sake of talentless sex with two blonde twins at once…

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